


Wrong (In All the Right Ways)

by ilikeblue, NightReaderEnigma



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Addam & Damon Marbrand, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brienne the Artist, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff and Humor, Jaime the Pizza Delivery Guy, LARPing, Love at first frustration, Marbrando's Pizzeria, Meet-Cute, Mention of other Lannisters, Romance, Romantic Comedy, so many puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24269971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilikeblue/pseuds/ilikeblue, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightReaderEnigma/pseuds/NightReaderEnigma
Summary: When very hungry artist Brienne orders herself a meal from Marbrando's Pizzeria - she gets far more than she bargains for.An extremely good-looking but impossibly frustrating delivery driver who seems intent upon slowly driving her insane....ORWhen spoiled rich boy Jaime gets a job delivering pizzas for his friend Addam's father, he encounters the only female customer seemingly immune to his charm - a very tall, blue-eyed woman.  He therefore makes it his personal mission to crack her serious demeanour...
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 85
Kudos: 239





	1. Slice of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rubberchicken4u](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubberchicken4u/gifts).



> Born from a fun filled chat, this fic is the co-creation of ilikeblue and NightReaderEnigma.
> 
> For Sari - whose pizza metaphor started off a whirlwind of ideas which kept us joking and writing. :)

Brienne loved this apartment. Sure, it was too far from the center of the city, too long a subway ride from all the hippest bars and bistros. But it was open and light—big and broad and frazzled around the edges like her—with its industrial sized windows and worn wood floors. So the furnace clanked in the night and the pipes rattled over her bed, she didn’t mind. It was a perfect studio, with a small kitchenette and no separate sleeping space, but she liked being able to lie in bed and stare at her easel, let her work breathe as she gazed at it from afar. 

The space was filled with her. Brightly painted replica shields she crafted in wood shop and a sword from her metalworking class adorned the walls along with several paintings in the hybrid byzantine-romanticism style she had perfected.

Occupying the center of the room was her current commission (a really fat one) and she had set aside a three-day weekend to dig in, hoping to have a good portion complete by Monday. The buyer requested a very specific scene—the Blue Knight kneeling as Goldenhand the Just laid his sword on her shoulders—a moment pulled out of the ethereal place where history and myth intermixed. No one sure if either character had really existed. 

Brienne stared at the pile of books she used for reference, tracing the Blue Knight’s features before moving back to the canvas. Using burnt umber she sketched an outline—eyes half lidded, wide mouth parting with transcendent joy, wispy hairs that would glow like a crown in firelight (once the light source had been established in the lower right corner of the tableau)—a perfect subject for her exaggerated style. It already had form in her mind, fingers twitching to mix colors, to fill the open spaces she had created. 

She worked for two hours before her stomach started to growl, the coffee from earlier gone and nothing left to chew on. Brienne didn’t want to stop to cook anything, didn’t want to break her flow and run to the deli down the street. With a huff she looked at the pile of menus next to the fridge. “Ten in the morning isn’t too early for pizza…is it?” She spoke the question aloud, when the calico cat sleeping on her pillow didn’t answer she shrugged and dialed the number. 

The girl who answered sounded half asleep, the call peppered with long pauses when she wasn’t sure anyone was there. Brienne kept whispering “ _hello_ ” into the emptiness, less than reassured when the girl answered “ _yeah_ ” to everything (whether an appropriate response or not).

“Medium pizza with spinach, mushrooms and peppers…no onions. _NO_ meat…I’m a vegetarian…sooo that won’t fly. You’ve got it…yes… _maybe_ …?”

She clenched her jaw. _Wait for it…_

“yeah.”

_Shit._

“And the address…?” Brienne pressed on, certain to never see this pizza, yet unwavering in her effort. 

The girl miraculously rattled off her street name and apartment number without a hitch, ending the conversation with a chipper “Thank you for your business Miss Tart.” 

“Tarth…its…” The line was definitely dead this time.

_Shit._

<><><><><><>

Jaime pulled his gold sports car into the parking lot of Marbrando’s Pizzeria, reaching into the back seat and fishing around the crimson leather interior for his freshly collected dry cleaning. His uniform shirt lying frontmost beneath the plastic– crisp and pressed to perfection just the way he liked it. He had just wriggled it loose from the hanger when his phone bleeped with a text. 

_Addam: Thanks for taking this shift – really appreciate it. I couldn’t miss another swordfighting lesson if I’m to make Knight next campaign._

_No, you couldn’t._ Jaime chuckled to himself, ripping his polo over his head and shimmying into the crimson shirt, proudly displaying the logo of his friend’s family business. _At least red has always been my lucky colour._

Addam had been his best mate since high school, the two boys instantly bonding over their shared love of all things medieval and gaming. Back in the day ‘Wars of Westeros’ had been the biggest MMORPG and both teens had courted in-game fame and success. As the years progressed, it only made sense that their fascination with weapons and armour find a home in LARPing, both Jaime and Addam had devoted much of their spare time since to honing the forgotten crafts of swordfighting and jousting in order to rise through the ranks. _Only some are inherently more talented than others…_

_Jaime: No sweat - you need all the help you can get Firesword. I knocked you on your arse in seconds during the last two melees._

_Addam: Not next time Kingslayer!_

_Highly unlikely._ Jaime smirked to himself as he exited the car, his state-of-the-art customized ride a far cry from the other vehicles in the staff parking lot, the roaring lion hood ornament sticking out like a sore thumb and screaming ‘spoiled dick.’ It conjured a pang of guilt within him for teasing his friend. He realized it wasn’t entirely fair to compare Addam’s achievements to his own – they came from entirely different circumstances—on rare moments of reflection Jamie appreciated just how privileged he was. 

Being a Lannister, Jaime had not been born with a silver spoon in his mouth – it was solid fucking gold. Affording him a life of frivolity and leisure that included sword fighting lessons and horses, learning to joust for kicks. He shopped for bespoke costumes, bought in-game upgrades and flew in his family’s private jet to wherever the latest LARP was being held. Jaime studied Art History for the sole reason that it interested him, never batting an eye at how the tuition was paid or whether or not it would lead to a lucrative career. He had been allowed to run free, dither in his passions with little concern for cost or consequence. Indeed, he had it made – and that is exactly the conclusion his Father had come to as well. 

“The three of you are sponges.” He could still hear Tywin Lannister’s stern tone, prowling his study like the lion of their House Crest, fixing his three children with a withering gaze. “Never have any of you taken an interest in the family business, no ambition or self-discipline to speak of. Why your mother would be rolling over in the crypt – the Gods rest her soul.” 

Glancing at Tyrion and Cersei, Jaime swallowed the urge to chuckle. His siblings had given their sweet mother many reasons to roll—all more lurid and compelling than their detachment to the Lannister bottom line. “Father I study…“ Jaime endeavoured to defend himself but Tywin had little tolerance for it. 

“Art? Pfft.” He scoffed derisively; Jaime shrunk beneath the dismissal. Their magnate Father making his trio of adult heirs feel like school children again. “What future is there in that? Wasting your time dwelling in the past – for success you need to look ahead, not behind.” A million retorts drowned in Jamie’s throat; Tywin Lannister had no patience for learning from prior mistakes. 

“I look ahead.” Cersei tossed her blonde curls over her shoulder. “My career is booming.”

“You call those two-bit parts a career?” Tywin’s scowl deepened. “Flaunting yourself in low budget productions that bring shame to the Lannister name!” 

Cersei squinted, green eyes taking on a cutting edge, voice rising an octave. “I am an _actress_!”

“Porn star.” Tyrion coughed, making Jaime snigger. _She does have nice…_

“Take that back!” His twin shrieked, lunging across him to strike at their little brother. Jaime held back her flailing arms as his father grew more displeased. 

“Tyrion, I don’t think you are in any position to pass judgment!” When the lion growled, the three cubs straightened in their chairs. “The accounts payable I receive from your escapades could fund a small nation. Trips to Las Vegas where you drink three times your weight in alcohol and hire a constant stream of escorts.”

He shoved three piles of paperwork across the polished veneer of his mahogany desk, bank statements, bills and ledgers of their spending, their names highlighted upon the top of each pile. Each bundle rivalling the others for height. _I daresay mine is a little shorter…_

“This. Stops. Now.” There was a frightening ferocity to his statement. “The three of you will each get a job with no help from me. No familial sway. You will keep that employment, proving that I have raised a next generation with far greater substance than the inglorious self-indulgence I see before me.” He straightened, glowering them down one by one. “Failure to do so will result in the immediate cancellation of your monthly spending allowances and you will be denied access to the Lannister accounts.”

Cersei’s jaw almost hit the plush carpet beneath them. “But….Father!” 

“No excuses.” Tywin’s mossy spheres flashed. “You have a week to prove to me you have gained steady employment - or I sever your funds.”

With that he strode from his study, leaving the three of them to panic.

Jaime immediately called Addam. His friend had been working at the family pizza place since high school, making delivery runs from when he first got his license. _I can drive._ Jaime had mused. _I’m qualified._

As it turned out the job was quite lucrative, Jaime raked in the tips from the female customers, their generosity rewarded with his dazzling smile and practiced wit. Damon Marbrando had even suggested that orders from their regulars were on the rise since the blonde charmer joined their delivery team. More often than not, Jaime returned with his back pocket full of bonus notes or change he was told he could keep (which he always slyly slipped into Addam’s tip jar when nobody was looking). _For his next trip._

He had been working there for a little over a month, finding it more and more like home when he walked through the doors into the warmth of the small Italian restaurant. It had an inviting quality which Casterly Rock Manor never had. A cosy ambience emanating from the heat of the wood fire stoves, the air scented with tomato and oregano. 

“Damon… Addam called me, I’m here!” Jaime scraped a stool across the red and white tiles, plopping himself down at the counter. Never before had he worked a morning shift, but he suspected it would be largely uneventful. The sitting area was empty as compared to the bustling hive of young couples and families who crammed into the restaurant at night. 

“Good, not a moment too soon. You’ve got two deliveries to run.” 

“At ten something?” Jaime wrinkled his nose. “Who orders pizza in the morning?”

“A sorority house and ahh…” His friend’s father squinted at the paper, up to his elbows in flour and dough. “…some woman. Not a regular.” He dropped the two order slips with the addresses in front of Jaime. 

“Miss Tart?” Jaime could barely hide his amusement. “Have you been letting Darlessa answer the phone again?” The girl was no genius.

“What else am I to do with her? She is family.” Damon shrugged. “Now are you gonna deliver the orders or stare at the name all day?”

“I’m going.” Jaime mumbled, arms outstretched to take the mountain of boxes for the sorority and the one for Miss Tart, utterly enthralled by the name alone. 

_Miss Tart. Now this is someone I have to meet._

Jaime soon realized that delivering ten pizzas to a sorority house before noon had its perks. Tyrion would explode when he told him how many pairs of panties had stumbled into the hallway with his arrival. He’d been challenged to a game of beer pong, offered use of the hot tub (boxers optional) and had three phone numbers written on his arm in pink sharpie ( _hmmm - they really do write on anything_ ) before he squirmed his way out the front door—boxers dry and intact. 

_Fifteen minutes late already…shit._

He hoped the Tart on his route was lenient when it came to rules and deadlines, otherwise his ass was grass. 

<><><><><>

Brienne was circling the apartment, her stomach staging a protest at the lack of food in the fridge, squirming with acid from three cups of coffee. “It’s late.” She growled her annoyance. _Fifteen minutes late_ —enough to picture the cold cheese stuck to the lid and taste the congealed grease clinging to the edges. 

The buzzer rang, and she punched at it with gusto, abashed by her own voice as she snarled “ _…about time_ ” into the speaker.

“Ummm hi…pizza delivery from Marbrando’s?” The voice on the other end shocked her, low and gravelly, a comfortable familiarity like worn leather that somehow seeped thought the speaker. 

“Yeah, yeah. Come on up.” She knew how petulant she sounded, a hungry child crying for its bottle. Her stomach was beyond civility. 

A few moments later there was a knock on the door, she swung it open with cash in hand, shocked into stillness by the owner of _that_ voice. It matched the rest of him, much to her dismay, the sensation of _knowing him_ flowed into her system setting her hackles on end. 

_He is beautiful._ She tilted her head to the side, taking in all the straight lines, the perfectly matched proportions. There was a uniformity to his face better suited to the paintings she studied than a flesh and blood person…in a gaudy red shirt…holding out a pizza…staring at her like she’d grown a second head. _Shit._

“Miss Tart?” Brienne felt the heat rising, ground her teeth and tried to stop it, to no avail. A flood of red washed up her jaw, pooled in her cheeks. The beautiful stranger watched it, cataloguing the movement like it was some enthralling natural phenomena—the migration of bees or some such nonsense. She took a step backward.

“I’m not a Tart.” Now she _was_ burning, the stranger’s eyes widened ( _oh my…green_ ) and he bit his lip, probably still hopeful for a tip.

She saw the moment the mirth overwhelmed him, his face cracking open in the most lovely smile, it caught the corners of his eyes. “I’d say the _whole pie_ from the look of it.” He purposefully accentuated his words, tongue rolling around them suggestively, making the innocent seem obscene. And he was definitely staring at her now, roaming from her feet upward in a slow tour that made her breath catch.

Brienne looked down in a panic, it would not be the first time she had painted in her underwear. _But no…_ there were pants. Bare feet and ripped jeans cuffed at the ankle, a threadbare men’s underwear shirt dotted with paint. 

“Just…here…” She shoved the bills at him, grabbing the pizza with her other hand, pushing into his space until he backed out the door and she slammed it shut, blocking out his gleeful expression. 

She dropped the box on the counter, opened it with ravenous fingers. “Onions” She snarled the word. Cold, limp, sodden pizza… _with onions_. Brienne held a flaccid piece up, picked off the offensive vegetable, throwing chunks into the empty lid with venom. She counted to ten, tried to still her growing fury over a damn pizza…

_Shit._

Flying into the hallway she saw pretty boy leaning against the wall next to the elevator, checking his phone. “Hey…hey you.” Her voice rumbled in the closed space, he jumped.

“Hello Tart.” He grinned, and it _was_ charming, but seven hells she would not let him know it. 

“It’s Tarth…and this pizza is gross.” Flinging the box at him, she crossed her arms. “I want a new one…on time…NO onions.”

She watched a muscle in his jaw jump, realizing suddenly that this was a man unused to having his actions challenged. Brienne squared her shoulders, stretched to her full height—giving her the advantage—just barely. 

_He’s almost as tall as you._

Her silly, girlish heart thumped at that realization, she shushed it into submission. Beautiful boy smoothed his features, washing away any trace of agitation, before handing back the wad of bills. 

“I always pay my debts.” He laughed at some joke she was missing, entered the now waiting elevator with a flourish. “Back in twenty…Tart.”

The last word drifted through the closing door as the elevator pinged away.

“It’s Tarth…” She yelled back, ears filling with laughter that must be imagined. _Shit._

<><><><><><>

“Miss Tart?” When he first heard the unimpressed voice grumbling through the intercom, he hadn’t been worried. There was rarely a hot-blooded female whom he couldn’t cajole into a better mood. But now that the frowning, blushing, skyscraper of a woman stood in front of him, it was _his_ demeanour which brightened. Sunnier than a child who had just undone his birthday present or when he was named victor at a tourney. 

“I’m not a Tart.”

_Shit if she turns any redder, she will match my shirt. Her discomfort a gift that just keeps giving._

He was losing the battle against his humour, delight at her increasing awkwardness and obvious frustration amusing him to no end. “I’d say the _whole pie_ from the look of it.” And she was indisputably a _whole pie_ of a woman. Bare feet and ripped jeans cladding legs that went on for absolutely miles. Her paint splattered tee had seen better days, and Jaime suspected he may have at one point owned the same one – only his was thrown away long before it approached the ragged condition of hers. 

_Though it never looked quite so appealing on me._

It was no surprise she favoured men’s attire, she was broad with no tits to speak of and corded muscles visible beneath the freckled skin of her bare arms. 

“Just…here…” Two bills were thrust at him with aggression as she whipped the pizza out of his hand. _Freakishly strong…. and those eyes._ He had been so busy gawking at her body, he neglected to notice them before, two blue pools of allure and enchantment. Jaime could almost envisage the Lady of the Lake rising from their depths…. 

_Fuck. Somehow, she managed to back me out the door._

He chortled as the wood rattled on its hinges, wondering if it was the mass of the woman or the full-on assault of her disdain that propelled him backward. 

_That was fun._

He pushed the button on the elevator and checked his phone, unsurprised to find the missed call from Damon. He quickly typed a reply, “ _On my way back now…”_

“Hey…hey you.”

Jaime jumped slightly, scurrying to regain his cool composure when he spotted his new favourite customer stampeding down the hallway, he gifted her his most disarming smile. “Hello Tart.”

“It’s Tarth…and this pizza is gross.” _Thank goodness I have swift reflexes._ He caught the box mid-air. “I want a new one…on time…NO onions.”

_You do, do you?_ He fought the irritation which crept over his skin, unused to his charm failing so absolutely. The woman grew even larger in the confined space,puffing up like a stubborn cockerel. _Ballsy._ It felt like a joust, a duel, his fingers itched for a weapon.

_Today just got interesting._

Employing all his gentlemanly manners he ceremoniously returned the money to her. “I always pay my debts.” _Lannister family values and all. See Father? I listen when you dribble on._ He chuckled at his own joke and sauntered into the elevator, savouring the gape of her wide, pink lips. “Back in twenty…Tart.”

“It’s Tarth…” The elevator doors closed in the nick of time; he could no longer contain his laughter. 

_No, sweetling. It’s definitely Tart from now on._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Title is taken from the lyrics of 'Raise Your Glass' by P!nk  
> Chapter Title is from the song title 'Slice of Heaven' by Dave Dobbyn, Herbs


	2. Signed, Sealed, Delivered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185980079@N02/49914898386/in/dateposted-public/)

The entire drive back to Marbrando’s she possessed his thoughts. 

_She didn't smile, her lips didn't even twitch—how is that possible? Most women find me irresistible. She has some sort of surly superpower (the image of her in a cape and nothing more flashed across his thoughts), though I bet she has a lovely smile…_

Jaime wasn’t sure where the urge came from, but suddenly his entire life purpose seemed trained upon making that very thing happen. 

_There is simply no other solution for it. I will crack her. She will smile at me._

Pulling into the carpark, he located and smoothed out the crumpled order slip, noting that somehow ' _no onions_ ' became ' _extra onions_ ' when the order was placed. “Hmmmm.” Squinting he read her number off the receipt, punched it into his phone. It rang several times before she answered. 

“Hello?” The voice was gravelly, her displeasure at being interrupted evident.

“Hello, Miss Tart. This is your Marbrando’s Delivery Expert. We just met, and I believe you were dissatisfied with the quality of your order?” 

He heard the huff blast through the line. “We have already had this conversation.”

“But it was brief and didn’t begin to cover the complex topic that is ‘ _Order Disappointment_.’ Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Jaime and from this moment forward I will be taking personal responsibility for overseeing this process. Because when you have Jaime _come_ to your door it is100% _satisfaction_ guaranteed - _always_. I make it a mission.” 

There was a low growl which he was certain originated deep in her throat. _Quite sexy really._ “I just want my pizza.” 

“Certainly Miss Tart.“ He had to swallow down the fit of laughter which threatened to ruin his game. “I have just arrived back at pizza headquarters and would like to reconfirm a few details of your order.” 

Frustration radiated from the phone, she took several rumbling breaths. “Seems fair.”

“Of course. Now could you please repeat your order to me?”

“Medium pizza.” _She is gritting her teeth, this is priceless._ “With spinach, mushroom and peppers. NO onion.” 

“No onion. Noted. Now as a gesture of appreciation for your patience can I interest you in an Italian sausage?” 

“What?!” Her voice was frazzled.

“Italian sausage. Long, succulent, flavoursome – a favourite with women worldwide.” 

“ _NO_ meat.” The snarl was back. “I am a vegetarian.”

“I suppose that means I can’t tempt you with my personal recommendation of spicy pepperoni. It adds a real kick to your day…”

“Just deliver what I _ordered_.”

“Very well Miss Tart. I shall return.” 

Hitting end on the call, he strode into the pizzeria. 

“There you are!” Damon threw his hands up in the air in exaggeration. “What happened?” 

“A hung over sorority house and one incorrect order.” Jaime deposited the rejected pizza on the counter. “Can you remake a medium pizza with spinach, mushroom, peppers….” His grin turned wicked. “…and salami. But definitely no onion.” 

<><><><><><>

Brienne would pace if she had the energy. Desperate times. She had scoured the cupboards and fridge before opening the sole container of canned peas—eating them cold. 

Standing back from her easel with can in hand she tapped the tines against her large teeth, critiquing her handiwork. The Blue Knight was taking shape, long armored body only a sketch so far, but her expression already held a soft look of surrender often impossible to capture. Goldenhand was another issue. Brienne had started and stopped his face three times already, each time finding it lacking—too harsh, adoring to the point of simplemindedness, coldly perfect—never conveying the quiet, fierce devotion that it should hold. 

“I just haven’t found my knight yet.” She clinked the can with the fork, jumping when the door buzzer sounded. “Oh thank the gods…” She rushed to the speaker.

“Hello this is…” It was the same guy (gorgeous green eyes) his voice once more oozing into her space in a way that made her jaw twitch with irritation, the warm familiarity of him floated around her head.

“…yes, yes…I _know_ who you are. I’m letting you through now.” She opened her apartment door and waited, listening for the elevator’s high whine. Brienne met him with the same wad of bills he’d returned earlier in one hand, peas in the other. 

“Hey you’re…enthusiastic.” Pizza guy snorted, eyebrows raised as she shoved the money at him and grabbed for the box. Cat-quick he yanked it just beyond her grasp, eyes glinting with the thrill of a challenge. “Sure you still want it…what with the peas?” It balanced on one long hand, perilously close to tipping. 

“Give me my pizza.” Her voice took on a guttural tone, almost feral as her stomach rumbled like a beast in a cage. “Do you tease all your customers like this?” 

_Only the big ugly ones (the cruel voice in her head chimed in)._

_He confuses me._

She couldn’t find any malice in his expressive face, only unbridled mirth, amusement rising exponentially with her annoyance. “Manners Tart.” He waggled a tapered finger in her direction. “…don’t you mean ‘ _Please_ Jaime, hero of my pizza problems, slayer of starvation, I would have wasted away to nothing without you.” Glancing up and down her hulking frame, there was a deliberate hitch as his gaze passed over her thick thighs, her too wide middle. “I knew you would _deliver….’_ ” There it was once more, the devilish innuendo, the curl of his tongue and devious smirk that made her wonder again if she hadanswered the door in just her underwear. 

Lunging forward she yanked the box from his clutches, taking only a split second to relish the surprise on his smug face before she bounded back inside. Brienne threw the can in the recycle and plopped the box on the counter in one quick move, leaving delivery man gaping in the doorway.

Leaning down she inhaled a deep breath over the box, mouth falling open in unrestrained pleasure. Closing her eyes, she savored the warm, comforting scent of baked crust, tongue flicking out to capture the taste. It was only after a few indulgent draws of heated air that she realized the door never closed. She cracked one eye.

He was still there, leaning on her doorframe. Eyes darker than she remembered, a faintly pained look on his face. 

_Of course he looks uncomfortable, you resemble a cow mooning over its cud (that inner voice could be biting_ ). 

Like a cool breeze his expression lifted, lips pressing together with amusement. Brienne braced herself for his comment. It would be innocuously sharp, _like those eyes_ , a lightning quick jab, only noticed when you looked down and found yourself cut to the quick.

“Hangry?” He chuckled, it was sweet not cruel, and she didn’t know what to do with it exactly. He nodded to the pizza. “Maybe you should check it before I leave.”

“I’m sure it’s…” She opened the box, stared at the red meaty circles placed with random perfection across the crispy surface. Brienne felt her shoulders slump, could feel the line forming between her brows and the red rising from beneath the vee of her shirt, even more vivid against the white. “Salami.” She groaned the word, voice lowering at least an octave from its already low pitch. “Fuck the salami.”

Delivery guy made a noise like a hiccup, covered his mouth with a hand. The fingers were finely made, like a sculpture, strong. 

_Don’t look._

“Are you sure?” He walked to where she was standing, and only when his shoulder brushed hers did she realize that he had wandered into her space. As if he belonged there, as if she wouldn’t mind. “I was very careful with the order.” 

“Obviously not careful enough.” _The nerve of that man. He is mocking me, as though this is all some big joke at my expense._ She wheeled on him as the pennies dropped. “You did this on purpose.”

“ _What?_ ” His show of taking offence was paper thin, blinking rapidly as his eyes widened in exaggerated earnest. A graceful hand fluttered dramatically over his heart. “I told you I take the _greatest_ of pride in my job.”

“Then how did salami get on my pizza when I told you I'm a vegetarian?”

The infuriating man shrugged, shoving his hands in the pockets of jeans. “How do these things happen? One of the great mysteries of life…”

“I thought you were taking personal responsibility for overseeing the process?” Crossing her arms, she arched an eyebrow at him. 

“Well I did…” Brienne could practically see the cogs whirring inside his skull. “…but there is much to observe in the art that is pizza perfection. So much to account for at once…all that _sauciness_ to _spread_ around…” He lowered his lashes and it felt like she had wandered in on a conversation meant for other, _more familiar_ ears. “ …using only the freshest ingredients like _ripe, juicy_ tomatoes and _plump_ chicken _breast…”_

“Hmmmn.” Her mouth formed a tight, thin line. Her tone wry. “I’d say there’s an excess of cheese.” 

His face erupted into a radiant grin, the delight he felt at her quick retort falling away as his features washed over with another emotion. At first glance she thought it the most hateful of expressions, the one she’d been receiving for years. _Pity._ But then she placed it as something even more startling. _Remorse. Shame._ Guilt for playing this prank on me. _My feelings have always been insignificant when I am made to bear the brunt of jokes. The tender heart I hide beneath this mighty shell never taken into consideration, my hurt drowned out by laughter._ His repentrattled all she thought she knew. 

He moved to pick up the box. “I’ll bring you another one…”

“No…” She put a hand down on the box, jerked it back when her fingers inadvertently landed on his. “…maybe I can…” Brienne started picking the numerous red circles off, sighed when she realized there was no use unless she was willing to settle for naked crust—a prospect which was sounding better and better. “It’s not like I have some moral or religious opposition to salami.” Plopping down on the counter stool, she put her head in her hands. “I mean I could swallow it if I had to.”

There was a strangled sound, she looked to find pizza man staring at her with evergreen eyes. Brienne decided they must change with his mood, and she lacked the key to decipher them. 

Clearing his throat, he nodded at the brightly colored shapes dotting her walls. “What’s with the shields?” 

“It’s a hobby.” She shrugged, looked away from his too intense gaze. “I use reclaimed wood…paint them with the sigils of old houses. Then I weather it…beat them with stuff to imitate battle scars…” Brienne cut herself off, no one was interested in her weird fascination with medieval replicas. 

“No lions.” He looked around the room, made a “tsk” sound with his tongue. “There should always be a lion in the mix.”

She laughed, realizing too late how loud and braying it was in the open expanse of her living space. “I’m an island baby…stags and suns and stars for me.”

“But you’re in King’s Landing now.” He raised his brows in question, she nodded.

“Not much of an art scene in Storm’s End.” She spun the pizza box on the counter, suddenly self-conscious.

“Okay well…” He wandered toward the door, she followed loosely beside him. “I’ll try to get it right next visit.” 

His grin was so off putting, so real, she forgot for one instant who he was, what he was to her. Grabbing the pocket of his work shirt she gave him a little shake, tugged him toward her a smidge. “Just get it right next time pizza boy…you haven’t _seen_ me hangry yet.” The words tumbled off her lips with a chuckle. 

He froze inches away, eyes even darker in the muted light from the hallway. Brienne blanched, let go and stepped back with a mumbled “…sorry, I-I didn’t think…I didn’t mean anything by…”

Raising his hands in submission, he headed toward the elevator. “I get it..I get it.” Even with his back to her, she could hear the snicker. “Don’t mess with Tart’s pizza.” 

The doors were already closed before her vehement “ _Tarth!_ ” ricocheted down the corridor. 

<><><><><><>

_I can’t believe she said she could swallow my salami…_

He replayed their interaction for the entire return journey, starting with the unwitting sexiness of her expression as she surrendered to her hunger (his mind doing all kinds of naughty things with the way her full lips parted, the pink tip of her tongue darting out from within) and ending with the salami proposition. The oblivious delivery and the sheer comic gold of the comment bringing an irrepressible smile to his face. _I don’t think she has a clue what she said—let alone how it left me wanting._

His pulse began to race when he recalled how she seized his pocket, her immense strength extending to even the tips of her fingers, almost ripping the fabric from its stitches. Absentmindedly his hand traveled to the patch of material, rubbing it flat and removing the sheen of perspiration from his palm in the process. _She can manhandle me anytime._

The internal indicator on the lift counted the floors, taking him closer to her threshold. _I can’t remember when a woman has made such a lasting impression—whether she realizes it or not. Though I doubt she feels the same._

Jaime shook his head, temporarily stifling his jocularity and assuming his most professional demeanour. He had barely exited the elevator when her door swung open. 

“Miss Tart…“ He began, pointedly ignoring her half-famished, half-crazed expression which silently yelled ‘C _ut the crap and hand me the fucking food!’_ “…I give you one medium pizza with spinach, mushrooms and peppers. Completely vegetarian, no meat, definitely _no_ onions and…” He dug into his pocket, producing her bills. “…on the house.”

She didn’t need to know he had refunded Damon at the other end—both for this pizza and the intentional sabotage—and that it would be weeks before his friendly employer let him live it down. _Right now, I’m thinking it was the best money I have spent in a while._

He took in the sight of her surprised blue eyes, warily studying the notes as he waggled them before her. A giant, hungry woman filled with fire and intelligence. The pang of finality accompanying his accurate fulfillment of her order was bittersweet. Jaime could not in good conscience continue tormenting a ravenous artist, but it meant this was his final visit. _I wager she won't turn into a repeat customer—not that I blame her—the temptation of the tease was too much to resist. Still, it is a shame...I should have liked another round or two._

Jaime watched as she gingerly took the money from his hand, handling it as though it would bite, an endearing crease forming between her brows. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” He allowed his face to open, willing her to see the happiness she had given him— _albeit brief_ —his regret at surrendering the potential between them.

They stood for a beat in tense silence, each waiting for the other to move. _I could just hand her the pizza—but seeing as this is my last trip, where’s the fun in that?_ He gripped the box firmly in two hands, blocking her access to it with his outstretched arms, his grin spreading at her worn down sigh of resignation. “And if you’d like to leave me an online review, just remember my name is _Jaime_. The one who always gets it to you _hot, steaming_ and just the way you like it.” 

She shook her head in resignation. “I will leave you a thousand reviews if you just give me the pizza.”

“Alright.” He went to hand it over, then pulled it back again. “I should probably check it first—just to be on the safe side.” He didn’t wait for her reply, cracking the lid open just an inch and slowly peeking through the gap. “Let me take a look inside your box.” Raising his eyebrows with salacious interest and deliberately licking his bottom lip, his tongue left a moist trail. “Looks delicious.”

“Are you done?” Not a blink. _Shit._

Shutting the lid, he drank in her sight once more. Bothered to the verge of blustering, nervously tapping her foot against the floorboards, fingertips drumming the speckled and paint stained canvas of her arm. Each movement quietly captivating. 

“I am.” He announced, leaning out with the box as though to perform a gracious bow. Letting it drop from his palms into a two second free fall before snatching it again mid-air. Astonished to find his fingertips laced across hers on the cardboard, her reflexes matching his for speed and accuracy. “Good save.” Jaime praised, his voice infused with awe. "Where did you get a response time like that?”

“Ever knocked over a full tin of paint in a rental apartment?” There was a confident edge to her tone when she spoke about her work. A self-assurance and pride which lit her up from within. “You have to stay sharp and move like a flash if you ever want to see your bond again.” 

“Makes sense.” Jaime nodded as they straightened in unison, only just acknowledging that both their hands had stayed in place. Touching and weaving together in a masterpiece of their own. Similar in size but different in complexion, unblemished and freckled, ivory and golden. Both calloused from their hobbies and passions, working digits of those dedicated to their crafts. “If you ever have an exhibition or public display, I would love to see your work.” It came bubbling from his mouth, unstoppable and propelled by an overwhelming desire to leave something lingering between them, an opening she could choose to step through, telling himself this wouldn’t be the last time they crossed paths. 

_Or I could just grow a pair and ask her out… fucking hell Lannister, what is wrong with you?_

She weighed his sentence in her head, bewilderment causing the furrow of her brow to intensify, smoothing as she reached a decision. “W-wo…” She stammered over her words. _Suddenly so shy._ “Would you like to come in and see the piece I am currently working on?” The pink flamed once more in the apples of her cheeks as she acknowledged how her offer sounded. “Just…briefly mind and—you can leave the door open…”

Jaime was already halfway in, brushing up against her as he pushed inside, not giving her a chance to retract the invitation. Brienne lifted the pizza box high out of his way, its square corners wedging itself horizontally between their shoulders. _Hold it in the other direction and it’s a shield—Tart’s a natural._

He smiled then, his toothy grin genuine, without ulterior motive or jest, simply adoring the way her eyes grew large when she was trying to fathom his next move. He held out his hand, casually gesturing towards her interior. “Lead the way.”

<><><><><><><>

_What am I doing?_ _(asking a strange man into your apartment…apparently)_

But Jaime _(That’s the name right? Does he look like a Jaime? It seems too small somehow)_ didn’t _feel_ like a stranger, more like a stray who found his forever home, loping to the center of the room and sitting on the edge of her bed to face the painting. Brienne opened her mouth to stop him, but as he leaned forward— _all tail wagging anticipation and gleeful focus_ —she didn’t have the heart. 

“It’s the Blue Knight?” He was staring at the painting, inquisitive eyes moving over the canvas. “Her face is breathtaking.” Brienne hesitated only a moment before sitting beside him, still clutching her pizza.

He glanced at the box and snickered. “You going to curl up under the covers with it after I leave?” 

“Maybe…” Her laugh came easy, was still too loud and honking to be appealing, but Jaime seemed affected anyway, the balls of his cheeks glowing pink. “You’ll never know.” Brienne flamed at her own insinuation.

Jaime bent forward, chuckling and shaking his head in mock dismay. “I’ve been outdone…all those sexy pizza jokes and you do this to me? Don’t be cruel…” His smile flashed brilliant, Brienne hid her face, burning in his heat. 

“What jokes?” She stared at the ground, pretending for a moment that she was someone else—someone who could quip with a beautiful stranger. “…o-oh, all that _saucy salami_ stuff…” 

“It was funny…” He looked annoyed. _Good_

“Not really…” Brienne glanced his way, enjoying the strange mix of irritation and elation in his expression. 

“You’re killing me Tart.” Lunging sideways, he grabbed the pizza and gave a gentle tug. “Don’t make me regret getting it right.”

“Let go…” She smacked at his hands, and it was playful, almost flirtatious. Totally out of character. “If you’re nice I might give you a slice.” His fingers froze on the box, eyes meeting hers with an expression that could be mirth but seemed to promise something more, pupils stretching to swallow the glittering green. 

“Touché.” Rumbling laughter spilled out of him, filling the air between them. Making the room smaller and more intimate as it boomed from the walls and rafters. “A warrior knows when he is bested.” He released the pizza, sat back and stared at the painting once more. “What about Goldenhand?”

She followed his gaze, frowned at the overlapping attempts. “His features elude me…I can’t seem to find my muse.” 

“You’ll find him.” The smile he gave her was sweet, unfiltered encouragement radiating from his perfect features. “It’s already a good start.”

“So why are you so interested in my painting Pizza Guy?” She tried to make light of it, downplaying the heavy pleasure that settled in her chest at his thoughtful attention. 

“I have a degree in art history…with a focus on the medieval period.” He grinned, nodded to the easel. “You’re right up my alley Tart.”

“…oh.” _(well that’s…oh…shit)._ After a moment she caught herself staring at him, noticed an instant later how much he enjoyed confounding her expectations. Extending her hand, she waited with bated breath until he reached out, squeezed her back. “It’s Brienne…Brienne _Tarth._ ”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Brienne.” His fingers wrapped around hers, as firm and steady as she had imagined, with a softness that she hadn’t hoped to find. She held on for a beat too long— _way_ beyond casual—finally forcing herself to let go. 

Her cat had been watching them intently, perched proudly upon Brienne’s own pillow – commandeering pride of place in her self-entitled feline way – decided that now was the perfect time to make her presence known. She jumped through the space between them, landing with a thump in Jaime’s lap. Looking into his face for a moment before purring loudly and rubbing her ears against his chest. 

“ _Wench…no!_ ” Brienne reached out to grab her, but she slid away, tucking beneath Jaime’s far elbow. “I’m sorry…”

Jaime stroked her fur, spoke with a soft voice. “Good Wench…you’re a pretty girl, aren’t you? Why did your mommy give you such a mean name?” The cat settled against his side, leaning into his scratches. 

“Because she’s easy.” Brienne giggled, quickly covering her mouth to quiet the sound. “Any warm body will do.” _It’s a lie, my cat is a terror with strangers._ Against her will the smile filled her face, unable to fight the happy glow that bubbled beneath her skin at the sight of Jaime curled up on the end of her bed, cuddling her usually surly cat.

Looking up, Brienne found Jaime staring at her with the same sharp intensity that he directed at her artwork. Like she was extraordinary, something to be appreciated and cherished. She waited for it to break, for him to notice all the poorly matched bits of her face and find it unpalatable, was still waiting as he turned away with the same rapt appreciation filling his beautiful features. _Not dulling, not fading._

“Well…” He pushed the cat from his lap, stood and stretched. “I’ve wasted enough of your time today…” Winking as he turned toward the door. “…but it’s been fun.”

Brienne followed him to the door, watched the loose sway of his limbs, committing it to memory. She gifted him with another warm smile, tried to convey how much his simple attention had brightened her day. “And if I ever need another pizza…”

“I’m _your…_ ” Jamie paused, begging for her to chime in. 

“You’re my pizza delivery specialist… _yes_ -yes..got it…” She took a deep breath, released it quietly. “It _was_ fun.”

“Goodbye Brienne…” He met her eyes one more time, opened his mouth to say more before smiling sheepishly and heading toward the lift. 

She closed the door, pressed her forehead to the wood, _“Bye”_ whispered into the cold surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title taken from the Stevie Wonder song - Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I'm Yours


	3. That's Amore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/185980079@N02/49914898386/in/dateposted-public/)  
>    
> 

Try as he may, his grin was subdued. The rest of his shift was a drudgery, lacking the authentic joy and zest for life which usually accompanied his greetings and brought in the tips. Playing along with the typical flirtations of female admirers was missing its usual appeal. _Maybe I’m tired?_

He struggled to maintain his façade of interest, backing politely but hastily away from the doorway of two roommates who invited him to return and join their pajama party later. _It has been a long day…_

As he slammed the car door a little too aggressively and began his last drive for the evening back to Marbrando’s, his brain decided to give up the pathetic denial. 

Tart— _Brienne—_ had moved him, plain and simple. A yo-yo disrupted from spinning, string tangling as it twisted off axis. A couch shifted out of its established indentations in the carpet, the fibres struggling to spring back after being pressed and dark for too long. The normalcy and repetition he expected from the women he encountered turned completely on its head. She rewrote the rulebook with her unique appearance, and the power she exuded left him trembling in his Nike’s from both vexation and want. 

_Then she smiled at me._

It was gorgeous in its guileless charm. A moment where every detail seemed pulled from a painting. Delicate strokes capturing the twinkle in her blue eyes, the bashful way she struggled to hide an inner warmth which could not be contained. As he looked upon her, the steadily enlarging feelings within him exceeded mere attraction. It was the gravity which stopped his earth mid-rotation, the image of her face solidifying in his mind more vividly than any piece of artwork he had studied. 

Putting the car into park, he toyed with his phone, finger hovering over the newest entry in his contacts. The glow of the screen a blinding beacon in the dim interior of the vehicle. “Tart.” He sniggered. _I should probably change that—now I know her real name—but no._

Jaime _wanted_ to dial, it would be so easy. Just the touch of his finger upon an icon and he could hear her disgruntled voice again—uncommunicative and churlish over being disturbed in her creative zone. Concern for his boss, whom he also considered a friend, kept him from crossing that line. _She is a customer, calling her would be an abuse of her contact details, it could land Damon in trouble._

Sighing, he slipped his phone into the back pocket of his jeans, entering through the restaurant’s kitchen door to officially clock off from his shift. 

“Damon – I’m outta here.” Jaime hollered, dropping the thermal hot bag on the counter. “Tell Addam he owes me big.” 

“Wait…hold your horses!” His friend’s father wiped his hands on a tea towel, pushing a brown paper bag with an order receipt towards him. “One more delivery.” 

Jaime groaned theatrically—after his antics today he really wasn’t in a position to refuse. “You drive a hard bargain, my shift ended twenty minutes ago.”

“Yes, but something tells me you might want to take this order.” There was a mischievous glint in the older man’s eye as he nodded toward the slip attached to the bag. 

Furrowing his brow, Jaime picked it up, instantly recognising the address printed across the top. _Miss Tart…_ A grin enveloped his face from ear to ear. 

Damon’s eyes were full of fatherly warmth and knowing amusement. “She was very specific, ordered dessert _for two…”_ Damon gave him a wink before adding “…tarts.”

Jaime couldn’t stop the laugh if he tried, it tumbled out of him as he grabbed the bag off the counter. “Well I suppose one more trip.”

“Jaime…” His friend’s voice stopped him halfway to the door. “I threw in a couple of cannolis.”

“Thanks Damon.” He very deliberately ignored the pleased smirk on his boss’s face. The sound of Mr Marbrando’s chuckling following him into the evening air. 

Heading for the car, his brain had clicked into overdrive. _Tart ordered dessert. She wants me to come back…._

Swinging into the front seat, he leaned into the back to retrieve a fresh shirt from his dry cleaning. _Fate was on my side when I picked it up this morning._

Squinting in the revision mirror, he ran fingers through his mop of blonde hair, planning his avenue of attack. _There’s a liquor store a few blocks away. I will pick up a really nice red…I’m thinking Dornish. No expense spared._

Wine in hand, the nerves took over, digits giddily tapping the steering wheel as he navigated the now familiar course to her building.He tried to imagine the hulking, sulky, shy woman summoning the nerve to place that order—her shaky fingers as she dialled the number. Jaime vowed to himself she would not regret going out on that limb for them, he would find some way to reward her bravery. 

_This is officially a date now—whether Brienne intended it that way or not._

He did not plan on squandering his opportunity.

<><><><><><>

_“Hello…I’d like to place an order….Tarth…y-yes that was me but…_ No _, I don’t want to file a complaint. Your delivery guy was very—umm—attentive?_ (oh gods) _…No—not joking…_ yes _-yes…dessert…for two. Ahhh…do you have any tarts? Lemon…_ (sweet yet sour) _yes that sounds right…yes two. For_ two _people. It’s okay…end of shift is fine…n-no rush. Okay…bye.”_

She tried to push him out of her thoughts, all his maddening mannerisms, the ludicrous flirtations _(it’s not like they meant anything)_. But pizza guy Jaime had somehow wiggled his way under her skin _—like a splinter—_ except now that the annoyance was removed, she found the hole he left behind more uncomfortable than his irksome presence. _How is that possible?_

The face of Goldenhand stared down at her, mocking. Jaime was long gone, and Brienne had been working intently for hours when she realized that the countenance she was sketching looked strangely familiar. 

“What am I going to do about you?” She waited for an answer, her knight’s half formed lips quietly unrevealing. But the eyes— _those_ eyes were definitely _his_ —along with the achingly sharp jaw and full cheekbones. _His_ hand gripping the sword with firm, regal fingers.

Brienne ran a brush delicately over the canvas, the movement precise and fluid, the instrument an extension of her hand. Skimming over the surface of his features with the same shyness as her hypothetical fingers, wanting to touch him but inhibited by reserve. 

She backed to the bed, sat in the spot where he had been— _right here_. 

He had been right here—funny and flirty and _so_ -so whatever it was that made him Jaime—and she had missed it.

She tried in desperation to capture his look of sincere affection— _a trace of whimsy, that haughty vulnerability_ —failing miserably. Jaime and Goldenhand both eluding her in the end. _How had his affection been so sincere?_

By the end of the day she wasn’t sure if she needed Jaime for his features or _just needed him,_ the desire to call him back to her outweighing everything. 

Brienne placed the order with quivering breath, then began the nervous wait. Pacing the apartment, attempting to busy herself only for every distraction to fail miserably. Afraid that he might not get the message, terrified that he would. By the time the electronic beep of her intercom finally sounded, she was too nervous to speak, buzzing whoever was waiting through without conversation. Brienne listened with thundering pulse for the screech of the elevator, footsteps down her hall, a knock…

Jaime was standing on the other side of her door, ravishingly handsome in a pressed but untucked shirt. Hair tousled with careless precision, his grin overwhelming as he extended the bag like a truce offering. “Tarts for my Tart.”

“You came.” She expelled the words with heated breath, too low and singsong by far, unable to hide her relief. His eyes widened in response.

“Yes.” He swung the bag playfully. “You ordered for two…expecting someone?” 

“More… _hoping_ actually.” It was breathy, and desperate, and _fuck_ it if he knew just how badly she wanted him there—at this point she no longer cared. 

“Are…” Jaime paused, something timid and needy in the way he sought her gaze. “…are you still hopeful?” He was that stray again, craving reassurance, a welcome…

“Relieved.” Brienne’s face flushed, it spread down her chin and up to her hairline—but _fuck_ that too. A good number of things seemed to have tumbled in importance during one afternoon. He would get used to her blushes in time. 

“Me too.” Slumping with relief, he picked up a canvas bag he had hidden behind her door frame, holding it out in greeting. “I wasn’t sure your wine preference, but in my experience Dornish Red goes well with anything.” _Expensive taste for a pizza guy._

He stepped across the threshold, entering her domain with ease. Brienne was struck again by the sensation that he belonged there—that they both had known it from the start. As one they moved to stand in front of her painting, Jaime’s shrewd assessment making quick work of the changes to Goldenhand. “He looks…”

“Familiar?” She laughed, rich and full, surprising herself. The mortification she expected to feel lacking. Brienne imagined Jaime was at the center of a lot of girls’ fantasies, and for some unfathomable reason he didn’t mind at all being the center of hers. 

“Well…yes.” He chuckled, sitting the bag down on her bed. “If I had a sword I could pose.” Jaime extended his arm and tapped her on the shoulder in a mimicry of knighting. “You wanna kneel Brienne?” He bit his lip and once again she found herself questioning if he intended the salacious undercurrent. _Or perhaps this time it is me, hearing what I want to hear._ Even her thoughts were yielding to the pull of attraction. 

“In your dreams pretty boy.” His eyes widened, opening his mouth to gloat. “Yes, you’re beautiful…gods the ego…” She walked to the far side of her bed, felt under it for a carrying case which she opened to withdraw a long, heavy blade with a rubber tip. “Here…if you’re serious about posing.” In one quick motion flipping the weapon around so that the guard was facing him.

“You sleep with a sword?” Voice dropping so low Brienne had to lean forward to hear it, his face flushed with a need she didn’t recognize—at least not when it was this overpowering and directed at _her_ of all people. “Damn woman…” Jaime backed away a step, as if afraid of what he might do with that information bouncing around his brain. He swung the épée in a graceful arc, looking much too comfortable with his hand on the hilt. “I could teach you to joust.” He assumed an en garde position, waggling the covered point at her. 

“Is that just another thinly veiled penis joke?” She picked up the other practice weapon, matched his stance. “Because a lance…really?” Brienne raised her eyebrows, squaring her shoulders for his attack. 

“Oh Tart, wait until I teach you to ride my horse. So many opportunities to observe that spellbinding blush…all that _mounting_ and _straddling._ ” Jaime lunged forward, taking the high outside route and aiming for her shoulder, the move made with deliberate slowness, allowing for an easy parry. Neither of them wore the necessary protection to truly engage in a match, their duel all for show. Her riposte was immediate, carefully arcing her blade in a counterattack to the low outside and tapping it against his thigh. Jaime grinned at the contact. “Even taking it easy you’re fast…imagine how quick you are when you try.” Lowering his blade she followed suit, his knife-sharp eyes taking in the full expanse of her from toes to tip of blade. “Magnificent.” It rumbled in the back of his throat.

“You really know how to joust?” She collected the épées, put them back in the case before sitting cross-legged on the bed, tucking her head in the bag of treats and waving a hand toward the kitchenette. “Glasses are in the cupboard…and a corkscrew in front.” He poured two full goblets before joining her on the foot of the bed. 

“I’m a privileged man, I know how to do a great many things. Money allows me to indulge in my hobbies.” Jaime took a deep drink, wariness pulling at his features. “I like to play at war.” She stared at his lips, more burgundy with each sip.

“A rich delivery guy?” _That explains the vintage._ He opened his mouth to divulge, and she gently raised a hand to cover his lips, noting with delight how he shivered at her touch, how her fingers stained with the contact. “Not today…I get the feeling that you like your secrets. We have time.” Jaime gave a relieved nod.

Brienne hid her embarrassment by digging once more in the sack, grinning with surprise as she retrieved a cannoli from the bottom. Desperately attempting to eat it while maintaining a modicum of lady-like grace. Eventually she gave up, licking with abandon at the delicious filling. When she surfaced Jaime was staring, eyes half-lidded and dark, purple lips parted in amusement. He wiped an errant dollop off her nose, slowly sucking his finger clean with a lascivious grin. “Yes Tart…we have time.”

<><><><><><>

“Why are you here Jaime…with me?” Brienne indicated the small space between them as they sat upon the bedspread, her gesture sweeping outward to encompass the entirety of the apartment. As he followed the path of her hand, a startling sense of belonging lodged in his chest. These four walls already housed the foundations for precious memories—from her half-finished commission (which had flatteringly taken on his appearance), to the pizza box sitting by the trash in the kitchen. In only a day they had come so far, it was little wonder he already felt at home. Jaime watched as she brushed the scattered cannoli crumbs from the covers, her paint spattered hands fidgeting as she summoned the courage to ask the question he could see burning behind her brilliant eyes. “Bored of all the beauties that must fall into your lap?”

Jaime shook his head, placing his wine glass safely upon the floorboards beside the bed, edging closer, lessening the distance from his shoulder to hers. “I’ve lived a life anchored in riches and boredom, wasted too many days with passive indifference.” He swirled his finger in a wide circle, travelling the same path her hand had just followed—taking in the art, the worn floor, the large windows and larger bed—landing on her puzzled face. “I’ve never met anyone who was more _“you”_ than you are.”

He wasn’t sure how to put it into words. In fact, he never had been certain. Many times Tyrion had questioned his older brother about his exceedingly particular taste, asked him what _exactly_ Jaime was looking for in a woman that made him refuse the countless girls who would trample their best friend while wearing stilettos just to be seen on his arm. Jaime never could pinpoint nor explain the exact attributes, the combination indescribable. When he saw her, he would just _know,_ and she would be extraordinary _._ A legend wrought in flesh —rarer than _Excalibur_ or _Lightbringer_ — capable of freeing him from his stony ambivalence or burning him with flames of desire. Pushing him to seek more than what had always been in front of him. _And she’s it._

He stood, raising his arms and spinning slowly. “You fill the air around you, expand into this space, spill out the door…down the hallway.” … _overrun my head, bludgeon my heart into submission, seize all my intentions (declarations for another day)._ Spinning to a stop in front of her, he held out both hands. “You would fill the whole continent if given half an opportunity. I have never been less bored, more eager to be a part of _something_ …I am anything but indifferent over you Brienne.”

If he was being too forward, he couldn’t help it. If his candour was excessive it mattered little. _I want her to know—in case she feels it too…_

“I painted you.” Soft as a breeze, she pointed to the large canvas in front of them, confessing aloud the observation they had both tactfully waltzed around. “The hand…the eyes and jaw. They’re yours.”

“Did you make me your knight Brienne?” His question more direct than a tilt at a quintain. _Fuck it. Subtlety has never been my strong suit._

When she nodded demurely, he chuckled. “Well then it’s settled.”

“What is?” Brienne stared up at him, their eyes meeting like spring leaves afloat on bottomless blue pools. 

“I’ll bring you pizza and dessert.” He sat again, closer this time. “Lay on your bed like another big house cat…watch you paint.”

Brienne huffed. “Oh really…?”

Jaime nodded enthusiastically. “Yes…yes, I’ll be your model…I am _endowed_ with very _inspiring_ attributes.” He chortled when she rolled her eyes. “You’ll make me a shield, and I’ll teach you to joust…you can show me how to fence.” He closed his eyes, caught up in the possibilities. “…and one day, if you’re _really good_ , I’ll knight you.”

She poked his knee, forcing his eyes open. “I _beg_ your pardon?!”

“When we LARP together…you’ll kill it.” He frowned. “What did you think I meant?”

The red exploded in her cheeks, on her chest, Brienne’s lips parting in an unsteady pant. “No-nothing.”

“Tart…you have a dirty mind!” _One day in my company and her thoughts have already taken a turn for the corrupt—gods she’s fun._ Jaime inched sideways, eyebrows raised, his voice a teasing lilt. Deliberately touching tongue to teeth, he lingered on her deepening blush—a silent admission of exactly _how_ she had interpreted his offer. “Did you think I might show you _my_ sword?”

She shook her head, frantic little movements, their foreheads so close her hair brushed his. “No-no.”

Gently he cupped her cheek, smoothing a thumb over her bottom lip. Before she could protest, he closed the distance between them, pressing his mouth to the corner of hers—a warm slide of flesh that ended almost before it began. She opened her lips against it, angling closer until their breath mingled.

“You have only to ask Tart.” He winked, scooting up until his head was resting on one of her pillows, tipping his chin in the direction of the canvas and striking a leisurely pose. “Now…don’t you have a painting to work on?”

<><><><> _**Epilogue**_ <><><><>

Lights were blinking on across King’s Landing as Tywin Lannister sat at his desk, meticulously reviewing the quarterly sales summary. It would be another few hours before he headed home alone, woke up to do it again the next day. Placing an elbow on the desk, he rested head in hand. _I am tired._

“Mr. Lannister?” His assistant Shae called from the doorway between their two offices. “I’m heading out…don’t forget to look at the painting. I need you to sign off on the work.”

“Look at the…what?” He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand, took another sip of cold coffee.

“The painting?”

Tywin was sure his expression was dumbfounded; Shae shook her head in exasperation. “We’re remodeling the executive committee board room. The design company commissioned a painting…the knights?” 

He vaguely remembered agreeing to an update of the space. The company he hired to oversee the remodel had commissioned an up and coming artist—some girl with a rapidly growing reputation and a reasonable fee. The look they agreed upon was regal, it seemed fitting to have a heroic painting as the centerpiece.

“Yes…yes…” He nodded, finally understanding. “The artist…she did not request an introduction?” Tywin would be shocked by the alternative - artists were always eager to make an impression upon the rich tycoon, never passing up the opportunity to meet a potential patron with deep pockets and widespread influence. Most would grovel for the chance. 

Shae snorted, covering her mouth the dull the sound. “No.” She walked a few feet into his office, leaned on the back a chair. “You should have _seen_ her Mr. Lannister. She was…impressive.” 

“How so?” He raised thin eyebrows.

“For starters she was gigantic…stormed in here wearing combat boots and a pizza delivery shirt, easily hefting a painting that must weigh a hundred pounds. The girl wouldn’t let anyone else touch it…insisted on seeing it safely delivered herself. For a minute I thought she might change her mind and take it with her when she left, she was almost reluctant to part with it.” Shae shook her head in admiration. 

“I assume you _asked_ if she would like to make my acquaintance?” He pursed his lips, covering the tiny smile that pulled at his features. Shae had a generous heart, dragged many a struggling employee to his desk for an informal meet and greet then swore she had been unable to stop their approach.

“Who me?” She rolled her eyes, sparkling darkly with mischief. “Doesn’t matter…she damn near fainted when I said the name _‘Lannister,’_ all the colour drained from her cheeks. Apparently, the design firm did _not_ reveal that bit of information when they contacted her. Poor darling stumbled in here with an address scribbled on a post-it note.” Shae chuckled, shaking her head. “I _so_ wanted to see your face when you met her.”

“Did you settle the balance of the invoice?” He looked back at the papers on his desk, losing attention. 

“No. When I offered to interrupt you for the check she said not to bother… _‘a Lannister always pays his debts’_ or some such nonsense, scurried away before I could stop her.” 

Tywin stilled, uncertainty spreading like wings inside his chest. “She said _what_ …exactly…?” He pinned his assistant in an icy stare. 

Shae straightened to attention, sensing the shift in his mood. “The girl meant it as a compliment…th-that Lannisters always pay…” Tywin cut her off with a wave of his hand.

“That will be all Shae…goodnight.” He waited until she left before walking to her office, carefully unwrapping the painting.

_It was striking,_ and his first observation was how exquisitely she had rendered the details, the perfection of the brushstrokes, the fire buried in the hues. Then he looked at the faces…

_He_ was in there. Not perfect, not blatant. _No—_ her talent apparently superseded mere mimicry. More a feel, an impression. Barely noticeable lines that radiated out from eyes like cut glass, exact in their jade green glow. The slight widening of the bridge of the nose. Lips that filled out at the middle, then pulled tight at the corners with swallowed mirth. 

Tywin’s initial reaction was righteous indignation. _How dare she steal my son’s image, using his likeness to shamelessly promote her work and find favour?!_

Still, the longer he stared, the greater his confusion. This was not an expression pulled off some paparazzi site, pilfered from Instagram. Tywin doubted anyone outside his family had ever seen Jaime so open, so vulnerable, so…

_Pizza delivery shirt._

Hurrying back to his desk, he dialed the number, waiting impatiently for him to pick up.

“Hello son…I think we have much to discuss.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title Taken from the song title "That's Amore" by Dean Martin 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read this story! It was incredibly fun to write - we had a lot of laughs. :)  
> (and I battled a strange sudden onset pizza craving, lol) - NightReaderEnigma
> 
> Thanks for reading! It really was a blast to write this. Our mantra: “How many cheesy pizza pick up lines can we come up with?” Apparently a lot. Also thank you M for letting me drag you into modern AU from half a world away. - ilikeblue

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this tale, be sure to check out our other fics! :D
> 
> ilikeblue is currently posting ['Surfacing'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24050971/chapters/57875548) \- Modern AU, frenemies to lovers set in the world of competitive surfing. Mostly a story of two like souls meeting and overcoming struggles to be together. 
> 
> &
> 
> NightReaderEnigma is currently releasing ['War of Hearts'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23983324/chapters/57688876) \- Canon Compliant, A Romantic Drama, delving deep into the hearts and minds of Jaime and Brienne. Follows the journey of their love as they unite to fight their pasts, their inner demons and the forces that would try and tear them apart.
> 
> Thank you to Ro_Nordmann for the lovely Cover Art! :)


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